you & me could write a pale romance
by cynically quixotic
Summary: Some loves are so powerful they can transcend universes. Pale Mom/Bro and Roxy/Dirk. Written for the kink meme.


_pale MomBro, pale RoxyDirk, parallelism_

_I'd like to see some kind of comparison or at least separate scenes of their epic friendshipping adventures, e.g. Mom and Bro bringing Dave and Rose over for playdates, and shenanigans in which Roxy and Dirk get drunk together and gossip about Jane and Jake._

_Bonus: there is somehow a Roxy/Jane+Dirk/Jake double date._

* * *

><p>"David! Aww, look how big you've grown!" A pair of bright red eyes blinks up at a professional lady from behind a miniature pair of pointy sunglasses.<p>

"Bluh."

The professional lady coos indulgently and hiccoughs a little. "Strider, did you hear that? He just said my name!"

An outrageously awesome dude unconsciously mimics his adopted child as he blinks at her incredulously. "Whatever you say, Lalonde." The professional lady pouts at him petulantly.

"Geez, Strider! Did being a dad suck all the fun out of you?" She warms rapidly to this train of thought. "And you got infected and started sucking the fun out of shit like some turd-hungry Dracula! Score!"

"I'm not his dad," protests the outrageously awesome dad dude, ignoring the rest of the statement. "I'm his bro. I'm too young to be a dad. You, on the other hand, are just the perfect age to bear a child." He gestures towards her trim figure outlined in a stylish, form-fitting lab coat. "Just look at those hips. People will be asking when the next one's due." His lightning reflexes allow him to draw his shitty sword and slice the ironic Powerpuff Girls pillow she chucks at his head clean in half.

"Strider, you're so full of shit," the not-so-professional lady grumbles. "Isn't that right, Davy?" The baby in her arms commences chewing on the edge of her sleeve in response. Strider grins internally, then grimaces at the nickname.

"Lalonde, you're not nicknaming him anything your alcohol-riddled brain comes up with." Lalonde sticks her tongue out at him and he sighs. "The levels of maturity and sobriety you don't display in the presence of our children are un-fucking-real."

"For your information, Strider, I'm not drunk," Lalonde informs him smartly. "I am merely," she draws herself up to her full height, "_tipsy_."

Strider raises an eyebrow but refrains from commenting. Instead, he reaches down to gingerly lift a young lady who is currently scribbling with an assortment of brightly-coloured crayons in a precocious display of motor skills. Strider thinks this would be much more impressive if she wasn't doing it on his living room wall.

He peers at a couple of stick figures who appear to be brandishing sticks and shouting vulgarities in various languages. "The hell are these, hunter-gatherer Neanderthals?"

"They're _wizards_, Stri_durr_," Lalonde corrects him smugly. Strider rolls his concealed eyes. "You just mispronounced my name, causing me to understand jack everything." He raises the baby up to eye level and addresses her sombrely.

"Rosita, pay close attention to what I'm about to tell you. Your mother is a _shrew_." Lalonde splutters indignantly. "Her name is Rosanna, dickprince!"

"That's a stupid name. It sounds so fucking prissy."

"It means _brilliant_ in Persian and that's what she is. Or will be. Whatever."

"I had no idea you were Persian. You learn something new everyday."

"That's not the point. You're confusing her!"

"Nah," Strider says nonchalantly. He taps Rosanna lightly on the head. "Babies are smart. They know what their names should be." He points abruptly at David à la Phoenix Wright, which, it being 1996, does not exist yet and so is not even a thing anyway. "You shall be Sweet Bro-"

"Cease and desist, foul knave!"

"-and _you_ shall be Hella Jeff." The newly-christened Hella Jeff yawns in reply. Sweet Bro's shades slip off due to being overwhelmed by sheer awesomeness.

It takes about five hundred whacks to the head with a rolled-up Game Bro magazine before they finally agree that the babies will simply be called Rose and Dave.

* * *

><p>Rose and Dave are sprawled out on the spare mattress communicating in their strange baby language, which seems to consist mainly of a series of 'bluh's and much face-papping. Occasionally one of them will 'say' something that makes both of them giggle, although both are a little more reserved than most babies. It's heart-warming and domestic and not at all what Strider's used to.<p>

Lalonde plops down on the futon next to him and they watch in silence for a while. Her career makes it difficult for them to schedule visits, not to mention the fact that they live in separate states, and time is a precious commodity. It's not like one of them is suddenly going to gain mastery over it or anything. Weird shit like that only happens in overly-complicated webcomics about reality-warping video games.

"So I got posted to Washington two months ago, and guess what happened there," she begins conversationally. Strider appears to seriously consider this.

"You were eaten by a Siberian camel." Lalonde swats him on the arm, but she's laughing.

"Not a camel then. A flying shark." She shakes her head emphatically.

"Noooooo, Strider, shut up. Just shut the fuck up and forget the next stupid thing you were gonna say." Her unusual pink eyes are bright and brimming with mischief, like a teenager sharing secrets with her best friend. Strider believes that there is a part of her, like Peter Pan, which never grew up. He doesn't think he'll tell her this.

Lalonde's face breaks into a huge, conspiratorial grin. "Me and Rose witnessed a meteor crash!"

That gets Strider's attention, enough so that he doesn't bother to correct her grammar. "_Another_ one?"

"Yeah, see, we were going down the street and there was this joke shop. You know the type, the one with all the fakey-fake handcuffs and smoke bombs and shit, and this total _hunk_ came out and I swear he looked _right at me_. But then the meteor came right out of fucking nowhere and blitzed the place, and we had to haul the fuck out of there." Lalonde pauses to check if she has missed anything. "Also I lost my scarf."

Strider considers this information. "You remember the meteor that crashed in Washington two days before Dave was 'born'?"

"Yeah. Didn't it level one of the Crockercorp factories?" They smirk at each other and bump fists. "_Fuck that witch._"

That's really all there is to say on the matter.

* * *

><p>tipsyGnostalgic [TG] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT]<p>

TG: hey dick

TG: *dirk

TG: guess what hapenef in my dream

TG: i was hanfcuudfe to the bed

TG: would you happen to hva anything to do with that by any chance

TT: How do you even know about that? Your dream self hasn't woken up yet.

TG: aha so you admit it

TG: fuckin perv

TG: ;)

TT: It's for your own good as well as mine. I can't exactly keep up the pretence of being asleep if I have to keep flying out to fetch your tipsy ass back from the abyss.

TG: but a fne tipsy ass right

TG: *fine

TT: How should I know? It's not like I feel you up when I take you back to your tower.

TG: an yet you hadncuff me to the bed

TG: anwoys i felt like i was only hafl asleep this time

TG: *anywars

TG: *anywhores

TG: ^score

TG: and i couldnt move my foot vry far from the bed

TT: I would offer you a wider selection of methods of restraint, but you'd probably twist it into a lascivious comment.

TG: aww

TG: you know me so wekl

TG: oops janey's after me

TG: sorry bro cant keep her waiting

TT: Roxy, one more thing.

TT: You're probably close to fully waking. Just remember not to let anyone else know when you do.

TG: i wont

TG: but im not too worired

TG: after all

TG: ive got you to look out for me

TG: (diamond)

tipsyGnostalgic [TG] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT]

timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering tipsyGnostalgic [TG]

timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering tipsyGnostalgic [TG]

TT: (diamond)

timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering tipsyGnostalgic [TG]


End file.
